Exit Event #10
an uneven grin, slight, with youthfulness to it, and he isn’t aware she sees him—before he heads out, into the hall.
There’s something bursting, inside of her.
When she emerges from the shower, flushed skin and wet hair, she hesitates at his open closet door, hearing him inside. She’s
not sure if she can wear his shirts again. She grabs her own sweater, discarded on the bedroom floor.
He’s getting dressed when she walks in. He smiles when he sees her.
“What are your plans tonight?” he asks, doing up his fresh shirt.
“Dinner,” she says, hopping onto the island. “My friends are cooking at Jamie’s place.”
“School starts soon?”
“Next week,” she replies. Aleksandr nods, shrugging on a suit jacket—dark, simple cut, one of dozens. “How about you?” she
asks, light with nervousness. “What are you doing tonight?”
“I’m seeing Sanae. I should speak to her, settle things.”
“Ah.” Lili flushes, glancing at the ground. “Right, that—yes, that makes sense.” Anxiety twists in her stomach: the concern
that he’ll change his mind, that once she leaves the loft, her luck will run out.
Aleksandr grasps her face, gently. He tilts her chin up to look at him.
“And then, we’ll talk,” he says. “I’ll call you tomorrow, and we’ll talk. You and me.”
“Okay,” she says, soft.
Okay.
It’s early evening when she gets into the Village. Brownstones, vivid green trees, people walking dogs, parents pushing strollers
with toddlers, kids heading towards bars on Bleecker; it’s Friday. As she rounds onto Perry, she can hear her friends through
the cracked-open windows, music drifting from the kitchen at the back of the town house. Jamie’s car is parked out front,
several parking tickets tucked under the windshield wiper.
The front door is unlocked, and she lets herself in. Lili kicks off her shoes in the foyer—the various shoes of her friends
clutter the runner rug, Jamie’s cleats abandoned in the hall, and his mail is piled up. She hears conversation and Guèbrou,
the sizzle of food, the glug of wine. Lili pads down the hall, letting her hand run over the wallpaper, towards the sound
of her friends.
“Just accept that you’ve burnt it,” Amina says, swirling dregs of rosé.
“It’s not burnt, it’s caramelized,” James retorts from the stove, glaring over his shoulder. Chopping chives, Jackie looks
like she’s trying not to laugh.
“I’m turning off the smoke detectors,” Amina mutters, standing from the kitchen island.
Lili laughs, in the doorway; Jackie looks fast towards the hall first, the realization of recognition—the moment her friends
clock that it is her, that she is here, that she is smiling, and there is some light in her gaze—it all soars, like she’s
taken flight, an uproar of warmth: the broad grin across Jackie’s face, Amina’s shout of “Lili!” as she flings her arms around
her, kitchen knife clattering to the counter as Jackie abandons the chives, Jamie’s hoot of welcome, and the scent of Amina’s
perfume, as she hugs Lili, and the crinkle of Jackie’s eyes as she smiles, and James throws a warm arm around her shoulders,
“I haven’t seen you in ages, Marwan—” and Lili grins back, welcoming everything.
“Do you want wine?” James asks, already pouring her a glass of rosé. “Or Aperol? Jackie, where the fuck’s the Aperol—”
“This is great, thanks—hi, love,” Lili laughs, as Jackie pulls her into a tight hug.
“How’d it go?” she asks. Amina rests her chin on Jackie’s shoulder, both of them looking at Lili eagerly.
“Good.” She nods, a bit fragile. “I think it—I think it went really well. We’re going to talk again tomorrow, but . . . I think it’s going to be okay.”
Jackie squeezes her arm, delighted. “What’d you say?” she asks. “What did he say—”
The fire alarm goes off, a loud intrusive beep.
“Alright, let’s move this outside,” James says, picking up large serving bowls of food as Amina starts trying to wave away
skillet smoke with a dishrag. “Ami, just leave the detectors, it’ll be fine, the windows are open—Jackie, bring the wine—”
“Come on,” Lili tells her friends. “I’ll tell you everything, but let’s eat.”
In the tiny backyard, they drag chairs around the old wooden table, rain worn from several winters. Surrounding them, she
can hear the sounds of other apartments, brownstones with open backdoors, early dinners, families with young children running
around, neighboring gardens, charcoal scent of grills. Ice clinks in their drinks as they set food down.
The wine is light and floral, and the citrus salad is delicious. Amina grumbles, but they do manage to salvage the burnt asparagus,
crisp with chili flakes and fresh garlic.
The grill clicks, gas lit. James starts cooking marinated salmon and portobello mushrooms, while Amina keeps piling more food
onto Lili’s plate, and Jackie tells a story about a recent shoot that makes James almost snort his drink up. Cutlery slices
across plates, and flames hiss when James drizzles olive oil over the grill.
Throughout it all, Lili catches their tentative, sidelong glances. Hesitantly incredulous, as if reassuring themselves that
she isn’t pretending, that her new smiles and laughter last when they look away, that she doesn’t fade. She only smiles more,
this growing sense of lightness.
There is hurt in her, but there is also hope.
A little jet-lagged, body still sore, she manages to eat, drinks wine, listens to their stories. All around her: the glow
of her friends, evening heat easing as the sun sets, cherished.
Her keys rattle as Lili opens the door to her apartment. It’s dark, no lights on. She toes her boots off, alone. Jackie is
staying at Simon’s tonight, and she has the place to herself.
Lili leaves the lights off. Some mail for her is stacked neatly on their cramped kitchen table, tucked against her books. She’ll deal with it tomorrow. Her body still rings with the warmth of dinner, laughter, good food.
She stifles a yawn, glancing at the teakettle. Water, maybe tea, and then sleep, some rest.
A buzz, in her tote. Her phone rings.
Aleksandr Petrov.
It’s immediate, a habitual response—the sharp spike of fear, that it’s about to change for the worse—that he’s about to backtrack;
that he’d said, I’ll call you tomorrow, but he is calling her now; that he’d spoken to Sanae, and it had made him reevaluate.
But—
Breathe, Lili.
Trust him.
She tries to smile, as she walks into her room.
“Hi,” she says, sliding the call open. “How’d it go?”
“Fine,” Aleksandr replies. He sounds tired, but relaxed. She hears street sounds, a car door shut on his end. “Are you at
home?”
“Yep,” she says, throwing her keys onto her desk, sitting down on her bed. “Just got in.”
It’s quiet on his end. She waits, staring out her window—dark blue sky, summer nights in New York, beginning of the weekend.
She listens to his breath, and hers.
“Come over,” he says, finally.
Her exhale catches. “But I thought you’d said—”
A rough sigh. “I know what I said.”
And her heart—it grows, in the space of what he has and hasn’t said, and what’s happened and what’s yet to come.
“I’ll be there in half an hour,” she says, grabbing her keys.
“Richard is outside.”
“So certain I’d say yes?” Lili teases, because if she doesn’t tease, she might cry.
“Hopeful,” Aleksandr replies, and she loses her breath, again.
During the drive over the bridge, her knee rattles anxiously as she glances out the window. Closer to him, across the gleam
of skyscrapers, the churn of the dark river.
Everywhere, she feels the possibility of nearness, the heat of uncertainty: uncertainty, open and bright.
The air is warm, and she rolls down the window. They drive through the traffic of SoHo, dense with restaurants, nights out,
gallery openings. Red taillights gleam, traffic at a standstill. A few teenage skateboarders swerve between the cars on Canal,
tapping bumpers.
“I can walk the rest,” she tells Richard around Lafayette; waves aside his protests, tells him it’ll be easier.
Her heart thuds loud as she walks through her city at night. Down Walker, away from the rush and noise of Broadway. Past dark
galleries, shuttered for the night; the restaurant at the end of his block, busy.
She glances up at his building.
The lights in the loft are on.
A wave, as she passes Louis; he nods her towards the hall with a warm smile. “Have a good evening, Miss Marwan.”
In the elevator, she counts seconds, and her heartbeat: a thrum, faster, and faster.
The doors open on the loft.
Aleksandr turns, standing in the living room. He’s by the windows; was looking down at the street.
She looks at him, and he meets her gaze.
He starts to smile.
The elevator closes behind her.
Lili inhales.